Defenders of Democracy Part 38

n.o.body ever dared to call me a coward. n.o.body. Because it ain't so!"

"I know it ain't, Hal. If it was could I have been so strong for you all these months? I knew the way you showed yourself in the Fifty-fifth Street fire. I read about it in the papers before I ever knew you. I--I know the way you mauled Ed Stein, twice your size, the night he tried to--to get fresh with me. I know you ain't a slacker in your heart, Hal, but I--I couldn't marry a man that got fake exemption. Couldn't, no matter how it broke my heart to see him go marching off! Couldn't! Couldn't!"

"That's what it means, Blossum--marching off!"

"I know it, but how--how could I marry a man that wasn't fit to war his country's uniform even in a show. I--I couldn't marry a man like that if it meant the solid gold suite in the solid goldest hotel in this town. I couldn't marry a--a fake khaki-boy!"

"Ain't there no limit, Bloss, to the way you can make a fellow feel like dirt under your feet? My G.o.d! ain't there no limit?"

"There--there's nothing on earth can make a man of you, Hal, nothing on G.o.d's earth but War! Every once in a while there's some little reason seems to spring up for there bein' a war. You're one of them reasons, Hal. Down in my heart I know it that you'll come back, and when I get a hunch it's a hunch! Down in my heart I know it, dear, that you'll come back to me. But you'll come back a man, you'll come back with the yellow streak pure gold, you'll-you'll come back to me pure gold, dear. I know it. I know it."

His head was back as if his throat were open to the stroke of her words, but there was that growing in his face which was enormous, translucent, even apogean.

He tore up the paper between them, slowly, and in criss crosses.

"And you, Blossom?" he said, not taking his eyes, with their growing lights, off her.

"Why, I'll be waiting, Hal," she said, the pink coming out to flood her face, "I'll be waiting--Sweetheart."

[signed] Fannie Hurst

The Married Slacker

[This is a comic strip in three panels. I'll do my best to describe each panel and then put the text which comes beneath the panel.]

[Panel 1: A man and woman sit at a meal with pictures of Washington and Lincoln glowering from the wall in the man's full view behind the woman. The woman is reading a paper. The man is listening, but not looking at the woman, rather at his meal in front of him.

A maid brings coffee cups on a platter.]

SHE (reading)--"At 5:15, the barrage was raised, and the Americans advanced to attack. The long line moved forward like the steady on-sweep of the tide--unwavering, irresistible, implacable." Oh, isn't it perfectly wonderful! I knew our men would fight gloriously!

And just listen to this:

[Panel 2: The images of Washington and Lincoln have doubled in size and the eyes clearly glare at the man. The man now shows beads of sweat around his head and wears an expression of distress.

The woman continues to read the paper. The maid departs the scene having delivered the coffee cups.]

SHE (reading)--"The Germans fought desperately but the American lines never wavered in their onward course. Sometimes the broad stretch of the battlefield was enveloped in great volumes of smoke, but a moment later, as the air cleared, the same lines were to be seen moving onward. At 6:45, the sound of cheering was heard amidst the din of the battle and a few moments later, the message was sent back that the American troops had captured the great German position."

[Panel 3: The images of Washington and Lincoln are now almost fully the size of the wall and marks of consternation and anger are clear on their brows as they glare at the man. The woman continues to read the paper without looking up. The man is fleeing the room in great haste with his arms in the air. He has knocked over his chair in his haste and has b.u.mped into the maid who was returning with a coffee pot and biscuits. The man's face is obscured by raised hands and his overcoat, but he is clearly fleeing.]

SHE (reading)--"The American victory of yesterday may well mark the beginning of the end of the war. London and Paris are ringing with the praises of the American soldiers. President Wilson has proclaimed a national holiday in celebration of the triumph, and the American soldier has won imperishable glory as a fighting man."

[The last panel is signed] McCutcheon

Hymn for America

Air: "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled"

Where's the man, in all the earth-- Man of want or man of worth-- Who shall now to rank or birth Knee of homage bend?

Though he war with chance or fate, If his heart be free of hate, If his soul with love be great, He shall be our friend.

Where's the man, of wealth or wage, Dare be traitor to his age, To the people's heritage Won by war and woe,-- Counting but as private good All the gain of brotherhood By the base so long withstood?

He shall be our foe.

Where's the man that does not feel Freedom as the common weal, Duty's sword the only steel Can the battle end?

Comrades, chant in unison Creed the n.o.blest 'neath the sun: "One for all and all for one,"

Till each foe be friend.

[signed] Robert Underwood Johnson

The Breaking Out of the Flags

It is April, And the snow lingers on the dark sides of evergreens; The gra.s.s is brown and soggy With only a faint, occasional overwash of green.

But under the leafless branches The white bells of snowdrops are nodding and shaking Above their green sheaths.

Snow, fir-trees, snowdrops--stem and flower-- Nature offers us only white and green At this so early springtime.

But man gives more.

Man has unfurled a Nation's flags Above the city streets; He has flung a striped and starry symbol of bright colors Down every curving way.

Blossoms of War, Blossoms of Suffering, Strange beautiful flowers of the New Year: Flags!

Over door lintels and cornices, Above peaked gables and flat mansard-roofs Flutter the flags.

The avenues are arcaded with them, The narrow alleys are bleached with stripes and stars.

For War is declared, And the people gird themselves Silently--sternly-- Only the flags make arabesques in the sunshine, Twining the red of blood and the silver of achievement Into a gay, waving pattern Over the awful, unflinching Destiny Of War.

The flags ripple and jar To the tramp of marching men, to the rumble of caissons over cobblestones.

From seaboard to seaboard And beyond, across the green waves of the sea, They flap and fly.

Men plant potatoes and click typewriters In the shadow of them, And khaki-clad soldiers Lift their eyes to the garish red and blue And turn back to their khaki tasks Refreshed.

America, The clock strikes.